Bali

A view from the Strawberry Farm and Resto

Hello hello,   We’re currently staying at Kubu D’uma, a charming little homestay near the rice fields of Jatiluwih, Bali. After a delicious breakfast that may or may not have contributed to my future Bali Belly, John and I decided to scooter about an hour away to Mount Batukaru, home to the Ulun Danu Beratan Temple.   The temple is primarily devoted to Dewi Danu, the Balinese Hindu goddess of lakes, rivers, and water. She’s one of the most important deities here—her water nourishes the rice fields, which are central to Balinese life. Perched on the edge of Lake Beratan, the temple appears to float when the water levels rise, making it a favorite for both tourists and photographers. Ceremonies and offerings for the goddess still take place there, often in private or roped-off sections of the temple.   When we arrived in the Bedugul Highlands, where the lake is located, we hit the worst traffic we’ve seen in Bali so far. The roads were narrow and winding, and the traffic turned into a chaotic double-lane mess of cars and scooters trying to outmaneuver each other. The yellow dividing line seemed more like a polite suggestion for local scooterers; they weaved through any gap they could find, including oncoming traffic.   John was driving, and it was easily the most intense scooter traffic he’s ever navigated. Cars in front of us, scooters beside us, people weaving everywhere—it was total madness, but he handled it like a champ.   Everyone who was anyone seemed to be heading to the temple. We got stuck in the jam for a solid five minutes—which doesn’t sound long, but after an hour on a scooter, your body’s just begging to stretch. Strangely, there weren’t many honks. If we were in Vietnam, it would’ve been a full-blown honk symphony.   Eventually, we made our way around the final winding stretch and into the small village where the temple sits. John glanced at the GPS and said, “Alright, it says we’re here,” and we started looking for a place to park.   We passed the main candi bentar—a classic Balinese split stone gate symbolizing the transition from the everyday world into sacred space. There were three guards in front waving people away, along with two pop-up signs featuring a red circle and a horizontal line: Do Not Enter. So, we continued onward.   John pulled over in front of a convenience store where a man happened to be walking. “I’m going to ask him for directions,” he said. I nodded—then realized he probably couldn’t see me very well. Ah well. “Excuse me, where do we park?” he asked, gesturing toward the temple.   The man told us scooters could park just inside the main gate—it was only full for cars. I got off the bike so John could turn it around, and then this legend of a man walked right into oncoming traffic, raised his hand, and stopped it so we could rejoin the lane. Absolute hero.   This time, when we pulled up to the guards and asked, “Can we park here?” one of them nodded and pointed us through the gate and to the left. Just as we were about to enter, a massive tour bus rounded the corner and began slowly exiting. It barely looked like it would fit through the gate—but somehow, it did. We waited off to the side until it cleared the candi bentar, then rolled on through.   There was a three-lane ticket entrance to the parking lot: one for buses, one for cars, and one—adorably narrow—for scooters. We pulled up to the scooter lane, and I pressed the button, prompting the machine to spit out a little slip with a QR code.   Then, we turned left into the stone-bordered section of the lot meant for scooters—but it was completely full. A stone path that looked pedestrian-only ran alongside some buildings, but scooters were parked all along it, so we figured it was fair game. We bumped along it until we eventually snagged a spot at the very end, just before the exit lane.   I hopped off while John carefully repositioned the bike so it wouldn’t block anyone trying to get out. Then, like the scooter newbies we are, we hung our helmets upside down on the handlebars and set off to find the temple ticketing area.     We’ve been loving the variety of temples across Vietnam, Thailand, and now Indonesia. Bali, being the only predominantly Hindu island in a majority-Muslim country, has a unique architectural style. Temples here are open-air and expansive, with plenty of room to walk between merus—multi-tiered shrines with thatched, pagoda-style roofs.   Ulun Danu Beratan is especially stunning because the lake sits high in the mountains. Clouds roll in fast and hover low over the water, giving the whole place a dreamlike, misty atmosphere.   Surprisingly, there are paddle boats for rent, koi fish to feed along a constructed lilypad path, and an abundance of fake logs surrounding flower beds—which gave it a bit of a waterpark vibe. As a major photo-op spot, the temple was packed with tourists, and we had to dodge tripods and groups posing as we explored.   When we wanted a photo in front of the lake, John spotted a kind-looking woman in a hijab with her boyfriend. “Hello, could you take a photo of us?” he asked, handing her his phone.   She nodded, and as John rejoined me, we squished together for the shot. She smiled and said, “One, two, three, cheeeeeese,” and snapped the photo. Then again, “One, two, three, cheeeeese.” It made me smile—so sweet that she knew that phrase.   She returned the phone to John and said, “I took two.” “Thank you so much,” we said. Then I offered, “Would you like me to take one of you two?”   They looked slightly surprised but agreed. Her boyfriend handed me his phone, and I took a bunch of photos of them standing by the lake. I handed the phone back and waved,